


Feeling Like A Little Kid

by asexualjuliet



Series: The Words I Most Regret (are the ones I never meant to leave) [1]
Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: Crying, Emotional Hurt, Gen, Grief/Mourning, I love him, Implied/Referenced Suicide, POV Second Person, Post-episode: s02e22 Not Pictured, Thinkin about this piece of trash garbage boy today folks!, mentioned vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:34:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26573035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asexualjuliet/pseuds/asexualjuliet
Summary: You don’t quite remember how you got here.You’re sitting in a chair in the lobby of the sheriff’s office, wrapped in someone else’s sweatshirt. You’re not sure whose it is.Or, Dick in the aftermath of Not Pictured
Relationships: Dick Casablancas & Kendall Casablancas
Series: The Words I Most Regret (are the ones I never meant to leave) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1982077
Comments: 8
Kudos: 7





	Feeling Like A Little Kid

**Author's Note:**

> whats up i CAN’T stop thinking about this piece of garbage boy Dick Casablancas he’s so stupid I love him so fucking much
> 
> I haven’t seen a ton of direct aftermath of s2 fics that don’t focus on LoVe, so I wrote this!
> 
> Note: I know Kendall was probably in questioning for Aaron’s murder when this fic takes place but for the sake of this, she managed to talk the police out of it or something because I love her and she does have the power.
> 
> Title from “I’m Still Standing” because my little cousins are obsessed with the movie Sing and sing that song literally every time I see them.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

You don’t quite remember how you got here.

You’re sitting in a chair in the lobby of the sheriff’s office, wrapped in someone else’s sweatshirt. You’re not sure whose it is. 

You remember graduation. You remember being in Logan’s suite at the Grand. You remember Madison Sinclair’s voice cutting through the room, announcing that _holy shit, I think someone just jumped off the roof!_ You remember a crowd of people storming the elevator, and that’s where things get a little fuzzy. 

You definitely saw your brother on the ground outside. You definitely remember a broken body in a pool of blood. Other than that, though, you can't really remember much. You’re not quite sure how you got from the sidewalk outside the Grand to the lobby of the sheriff’s office. 

You kind of feel like everything around you is happening in slow motion, and it’s not until the lady at the front desk has been trying to get your attention for at least thirty seconds that you finally realize she’s talking to you. 

“Do you want to call someone to take you home?” she asks in a thick German accent. 

“Doesn’t—doesn’t the sheriff want to talk to me?” you ask. “Ask me about—” 

You stop. You don’t think you can say his name without bursting into tears. 

“He has all the information he needs,” she tells you, and you think it's a fancy way of saying _your brother definitely killed himself and we’ve got a fucking bus crash and several other murders to investigate, so we’re not gonna waste our time._

“Oh,” you say. The word feels hollow. 

“Do you have a parent you could call?” she asks again, and that just makes you feel like someone’s punched you in the chest, because your dad’s MIA and your mom doesn’t give a shit and the only other person you can think to call is Beaver. Who’s fucking dead. 

“My—my stepmom,” you say after running through your options in your head, despite the fact that calling Kendall is kind of the last thing you want to do right now. 

“Okay, sweetheart, why don’t you call her?”

You nod and pull out your phone; dial Kendall’s number with shaky fingers. 

It goes straight to voicemail. You call again. And again. And—

“What the hell do you want?” Kendall’s voice comes through, biting and venomous. “I’m a little busy—”

“Beaver’s dead,” you say, and the words cause a sob to rip through your body. The woman at the front desk looks at you with pity in her eyes. 

_“What?”_ Kendall asks, and you _know_ she heard you the first time, but you say it again anyway. 

“Cassidy’s dead,” you repeat, through the lump in your throat, “and I need a ride home from the sheriff’s office.”

“Holy shit,” Kendall says. “Yeah, I’ll be right there. Holy _shit,_ what happened? Are you okay?”

“He—he jumped—” you start, but another sob catches in your throat, and you have to take a second before trying again. 

“He jumped off the roof of the Grand,” you tell her, and that’s all you’re going to say about that, because the second the words leave your mouth, you burst into tears. 

“Oh my God,” you hear her mumble. “Shit, kid, I’ll be there in fifteen.”

-

Kendall struts through the door in no less than ten minutes, looking like she owns the place. 

“Hi, I’m looking for Dick Casablancas, Junior,” she says, straight-up and businesslike. The woman does have her strengths. 

The receptionist gestures over to you, and you can only imagine how pathetic you must look as you look up at Kendall. In the ten minutes you’ve been waiting for her, you’ve been supplied a tissue and a shitty paper cone of water, both of which are working together to make you seem as pitiful as you possibly can. 

You wipe your eyes on the sleeve of the too-big sweatshirt and you manage an awkward little wave of your hand. 

Kendall waves back, looking about as lost and confused as you feel. 

“Do I have to sign anything?” she asks. The receptionist shakes her head. 

“Um, okay,” she says. “Thanks—” she sneaks a glance at the nameplate on the woman’s desk “—Inga.”

Inga nods. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” she says, and Kendall gives her a sad smile before turning back to you. 

“Let’s go,” she says, kinder and gentler than you’ve ever heard her say anything before. 

You nod silently and follow her outside. 

You avoid eye contact as you walk across the parking lot, looking straight down at your shoes—

Which, when you look closely, you can tell are spattered with blood. 

You don’t have time to turn away from her before you spew what’s left of the cheap beer you chugged a few hours ago onto your sneakers. 

Kendall jumps back like she’s been shocked. “Oh my God!” she exclaims. “Are you drunk?”

You wait until the sick feeling in your stomach has abated to shake your head. 

“No,” you say, and Kendall looks skeptical until you admit, “I kind of wish I was.”

Kendall says nothing, perhaps searching for the right words. You’re pretty sure there are no right words in this situation. 

“Can we go home?” you ask, sounding like a little kid, and the words feel strange in your mouth. They feel like something Cassidy would have said. Something you’re pretty sure he _had_ said on numerous occasions. He was always kind of a baby. 

Kendall nods, looking at you with a sad sort of expression on her face. “Yeah, sure,” she says. You wipe your shoes on the grass and feel her hand on your shoulder as she leads you to her car. 

You get into the car and open the window, breathing in the summer air as Kendall starts to drive. 

You don’t think about Cassidy, or why he might have done it, or how it was probably because of you. 

You don’t think about his body, broken and bruised in a pool of blood on the sidewalk in front of the Neptune Grand. 

You don’t think about the bloodstains on your sneakers, except that _yeah,_ you totally do, and you hope the wind outside is enough to muffle the sound of your sobs. 

You throw away your sneakers the second you get home; lob them into the trash can outside your house and decide to forget they ever existed. 

You don’t know or want to know how to get his blood out of them. 

Kendall gives you a strange look when you throw them out, but says nothing. She follows you inside without a word. 

You walk past Cassidy’s room as fast as you can before turning and entering yours, not even bothering to undress before shutting off the light and getting in bed. 

You hear your door creak a little. The light in the hallway flickers on. Kendall stands in the doorway. 

“I’m sorry about Cassidy,” she says. “He was a good kid.”

Just the sound of his name makes you feel sick. 

“I don’t want to talk about him,” you say, not meeting her eyes. 

She nods. “Okay,” she says. “Goodnight, Dick.”

She walks away and you hug yourself tight, body shaking with silent tears. 

You never used to cry. That was always Cassidy’s job, and more often than not, he was crying because of you.

You can’t remember ever really crying yourself to sleep before. You’ve got vague memories of muffled sobs from the bedroom next to you keeping you up at night, but you always chalked them up to your brother being a wimp. 

Now that he’s gone, you guess it’s your turn, and you cry harder than you can ever remember crying before. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> All mistakes are my own, please let me know if you see any!
> 
> Kudos/Comments are greatly appreciated!


End file.
